


Sparring

by Katarin



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Boxing, Chicago Blackhawks, M/M, handjob
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-28
Updated: 2012-09-28
Packaged: 2017-11-15 05:10:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/523503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Katarin/pseuds/Katarin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Corey's always tense, Razor wants to help him relax.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparring

**Author's Note:**

  * For [andthenextday](https://archiveofourown.org/users/andthenextday/gifts).



> Set during the 2011-2012 season. Written for andthenextday for sixteenwins

Crawford spends a lot of time in the gym these days. And if Ray thought for a second Crawford was under some weird, Tazer-like mission to just plain out-work his problems, he'd stop him. He'd have to, because what's wrong with Crawford can't be fixed by some extra time on the bike or even just with extra time in the video room.

"Trainer's gonna kick your ass if your knees are useless tomorrow," he says, when he's ready to leave and Crawford's still pedaling away. "And when he's done, Waite's gonna murder you."

Crawford looks up, frowning, but slows down, so Ray counts it as a win. "Thanks," Crawford says, voice sullen, and Ray just looks at him, because Crawford's too old for that shit and Ray's too old to be putting up with it.

He holds Crawford's gaze until Crawford breaks it, ducking his head and blushing. "Sorry," he says, and Ray nods.

"You wanna grab dinner?" he asks.

Corey shrugs, climbing off the bike. "I kinda just want to have an early night. Get lots of sleep," he says.

Ray nods. "Yeah, but you can't sleep now or you'll fuck your game day schedule, and you've gotta eat."

"Real quick," Crawford says. "Just dinner and then home."

They eat near Crawford's, at a place he clearly knows because no one gives him shit for the specifications he asks for on his salmon. "Don't even," Crawford says, smiling. "You ordered salmon too."

"Wasn't gonna say anything," Ray replies, smiling, and Crawford rolls his eyes.

"You ever think about doing something about it?" Ray asks, halfway through dinner.

Crawford looks up, confused. "Huh?" he asks.

"How tight you are, all the fucking time," Ray says, pointing at Crawford, the table... everything. "I mean, Waite's mentioned that being on the verge of snapping constantly can't be helping, right?"

"You gonna tell me I just need to relax and then I'll be fine?" Crawford asks, mouth twisted.

"No," Ray says. "You got shit to work out in your game _and_ in your head. But being this fucking tense all the time can't be helping work out the other stuff."

"Yeah, I know," Crawford says. "It's just... knowing and doing isn't the same thing. I'm trying to get rubdowns more frequently, switching up my post-game workout, I even gave meditating a shot. I can't un-tense."

Ray cracks his neck, thinking. "You ever hit anybody?" he asks.

Crawford shrugs. "Got in a couple on-ice fights," he says.

Ray smiles. "Yeah? How'd that make you feel?"

"I dunno, I was kind of busy hitting someone, I didn't really have time to think about... oh," Crawford says, looking over at him.

"I'm not saying go pick a fight," Ray warns. "But maybe hitting the heavy bag a bit might not be a bad idea. I think post-game would be good for you."

"Yeah?" Crawford asks. "Maybe I will."

They're stretching out before the game the next day, and Ray's low on the ground, trying to warm his hips up, get loose. It's feeling good, which he's always grateful for. There's nothing worse than that bone-deep, angry, tight feeling he gets in his hip sometimes, especially not right before a game. He isn't starting, but with the way Crawford's playing lately, he never knows.

"So, what you said yesterday," Crawford says, from across from him. Crawford's stretches look different, more like Ray's old routine, before everything. It's familiar, though, so Ray just raises an eyebrow with a smile and keeps moving. "Last thing I need is to fuck up my hands, trying to figure it out."

"Waite wouldn't kill you too much," Ray says, and Crawford smiles.

"Exactly. So, I was thinking maybe you could show me how it's done?" Crawford asks, and Ray pauses. It's been a while since he wrapped his hands and hit the bag, a long time. Crawford's looking pretty hopeful, though, and the last thing he wants to do is knock the smile off his face, so he nods.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, and Crawford nods his head and goes back to stretching.

It's not a good game. Q pulls Crawford after the second goal he lets in, and Ray doesn't stop the bleeding. It's not a good game, and Ray knows he's going to spend a lot of time in the video room, looking at the two he let in. He thinks it was more about his angles than his movement, which is good because that's something he can work on. No amount of extra work is gonna make his lateral movement much quicker.

Crawford looks gutted, sad and tense all over again. It's not that it isn't his fault, because he let in some garbage, but Ray knows that’s the kind of loss that hurts the worst. “Hey,” he says, kicking the stall next to Crawford’s leg. Crawford looks up, hangdog expression still on his face. “How’d you like those tips on boxing?”

Crawford doesn’t smile, but he nods and keeps changing. "Not here," Crawford says. "I gotta get out of here." They've both eaten, so the training staff won't get on their asses about that, so Ray nods.

"The gym at my place has a bag," he offers, and Crawford nods. He doesn't really ask, just follows Ray out to his car and gets inside once Ray unlocks the doors.

Crawford completely fucks wrapping his hands, twisting the wraps Ray loans him until Ray takes pity on him. "Like this," he says, keeping the fabric straight and pulling it tight. He wraps them around Crawford's wrists and hands, and Crawford never says a word. He just stands there, staring down at their hands. "C'mon."

He wraps his own hands and shows Crawford how he stands. "Okay, show me how you'd do it," he says, and Crawford hits the bag a few times. His form's terrible, but most of it isn't anything that's going to fuck his hands up. Ray leans in, moves his arms, straightening them out, and then moves back. "Not bad," he says, and Crawford doesn't say anything, just keeps hitting the bag.

"Good?" he asks, and Crawford barely nods, hitting the bag even harder. He's throwing heavier punches, and Ray knows that was the point, but if he keeps this up, he's gonna need more protection for his hands.

"Hold up so we can get you some gloves," he says, but Crawford just keeps swinging. He's arcing his punches, not following Ray's instructions to keep his arms straight. "You'll hurt yourself, c'mon." Nothing, Crawford just keeps going, putting his weight into his punches, and that's going to mess up his hands for sure.

"Crawford," he repeats, moving up next to him and shoving the bag away, stepping into his way. "Corey." Corey drops his hands, looking down at the floor and breathing hard. "You'll get it back."

It's apparently the wrong thing to say because Corey looks up, glaring. “Don’t,” he says, mouth tense. “You don’t know how -” He cuts himself off, like he realizes exactly how stupid what he’s saying is. Ray just looks at him because he's not going to bother with Corey if he's going to bury himself in self-pity. Corey winces and looks away. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

"You done?" he asks, and Corey looks up, still clearly kind of pissed, but nods. "Good. Let's get some gloves on you so you can get back to it."

He holds the bag for Corey, keeps it still so it's even harder to move, and Corey does it right this time. He doesn't let his punches arc, and his fists connect on the right knuckles and everything. He isn't the one to stop Corey; he stops on his own, leaning against the bag and wrapping his arms around it.

It means his arms are resting against Ray's around the bag, sweaty and warm. "Better?" he asks, and Corey shifts so Ray can see his face around the bag.

"I... kinda, yeah," he says and sounds surprised.

"Think I'd steer you wrong?" he asks, and Corey shrugs.

"You don't... I mean, unless I'm wrong, you're not throwing a lot of punches these days."

Ray laughs. "Don't exactly need to if I'm looking for a fight, do I?" he says, and Corey frowns, clearly not getting it. "I do a little sparring and hit the heavy bag sometimes, but I don't have any extra, Crow. I've got it to get up and stretched and prepared, and I've got it for games. I don't need to mix it up to fight." He shrugs. "It's all one long, fucking fight."

"You ever, I mean, if you could go back, would you -" Corey starts, and Ray cuts him off.

"Never," he says, because he wouldn't. It hurts like fuck when he wakes up, and he can't ever skimp on warm-up or warm-down, but he can't imagine not having this. He went through hell, damn the consequences, so he could have just a few more years to play.

"This was... thanks," Corey says, and he really looks like he means it.

"You got any extra energy to work off after games, you just let me know," Ray tells him, and he's honestly surprised when Corey blushes. He laughs, and Corey pulls away from the bag.

"No, hey," Ray says, reaching out to keep Corey from going too far. "It's not what I meant when I said it, but... sure, that too."

Corey stares at him. "Ha ha," he says and tries to pull away, but Razor's got hold of him.

"I'm serious," Ray tells him, and Corey kind of stares at him for a second, like he's trying to read him. "I'm not fucking with you... unless you want." He smiles when he says it and squeezes Corey's arm before letting go.

He isn't sure what to expect, and it sure as hell isn't Corey shoving into his space. He's sweaty and close, and Ray forgets how big and solid he is under the babyface and "aww shucks" smile. "I'm gonna kiss you?" Corey asks, and Ray grins at him.

"Asking or telling me?" he asks, and Corey licks his lips and just goes for it.

It's good, and Ray doesn't mean to be surprised, but he kind of expected Corey to be a lot of enthusiasm but not much skill. Ray tips his head up, pressing into Corey and into the kiss.

"Jesus, I thought about this," Corey says, mostly against his mouth. "It's hard because I know you're my competition, but I also want to be your friend, but, God, I also want to..." He trails off, blushing, and Ray grins.

"You wanna what?" he asks, knowing the answer. Corey rolls his eyes and pulls the gloves off his hands, tossing them on the ground.

"C'mere," Corey says, reaching out with his still-wrapped hands.

"Got something in mind?" Ray asks, leaning in. He closes his eyes when Corey kisses him, into the way his hands feel, holding onto the shirt he works out in.

"I didn't know if you were doing it on purpose," Corey tells him. "You're always in my space, and this whole boxing thing."

"This wasn't me hitting on you," Ray says. "Not that I’m complaining.” Corey’s hands land on his waist, squeezing for a second before reaching down. He tugs on Ray’s shorts, cupping him through his underwear.

“Are you about to jerk me off in my gym?” he asks Corey, and Corey’s hand stops, pulling away for a second. Ray grabs it and pulls it back, arching up so Corey can see he’s already getting hard. “That wasn’t criticism.”

“Yeah?” Corey asks, giving him that shy smile of his.

Corey reaches into his shorts, brushes his fingers over the head of Ray's dick and then wraps his hand around him. It's good, for a second - warm, tight grip that Ray likes. Then Corey starts jerking him and Ray reaches down, taps the back of Corey's wrist. "Your wraps," he says, glancing down at them and then back up at Corey. "They'll... catch."

"Oh," Corey says, making a face. He rips them off, ducking his head the whole time.

“What?” Ray asks, wanting to know what's got Corey blushing like that.

"Nothing, just... I thought it would be hot, if I had... it's dumb," Corey says.

"You really thought about this," Ray says and he's about to smile, but Corey licks his hand and reaches down. Wet is even better than before and Ray closes his eyes, taking it in. Corey's hand is big and solid around him, grip tight and Ray rocks his hips into it.

Corey's watching him, almost staring but when he notices Ray watching back he looks away. Ray’s about to tell him he doesn’t mind the staring, but Corey leans in, pressing his mouth to Ray’s neck. It’s soft at first and then Corey drags his teeth over the side of his throat. It's fucking perfect and Ray rocks his hips forward and back and forward again, fucking Corey's fist.

Corey bites down hard, right over where Ray knows the looping script of his tattoo curves over his neck and Ray shudders. "I want you to fuck me," Corey tells him, speaking close to his skin. "I want to fuck you and to suck you off, for you to-" he cuts off when Ray comes. He pulls Corey just a little closer when he does, holding tight to Corey's shoulders because he's always shit for the first few seconds after he comes. Ray slumps against Corey and he can feel his eyelashes against his skin, like he's blinking.

"I didn't know you were close," Corey says. He sounds surprised and Ray thinks he can feel him smiling.

"C'mon," Ray says, tugging on Corey's shoulder.

“Where are we-” Corey starts and Ray smiles.

“You have a list, right?” he says. “And I said I’d help you relax. Two birds, one stone. C’mon.”


End file.
